


Flash

by Frostfire



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Flashbacks, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-09-18
Updated: 2005-09-18
Packaged: 2017-12-23 16:41:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/928753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frostfire/pseuds/Frostfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Storms suck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flash

**Author's Note:**

> For the [Worst Case Senario](http://www.livejournal.com/users/slodwick/499015.html) Challenge; my scenario is [here](http://i8.photobucket.com/albums/a11/worstcase/097.jpg). I thought about cheating and setting it during Storm/Eye, but this is what happened instead.

“Well, that was fun,” said Rodney, shifting the bag of beans to his left shoulder. “Why did we leave the jumper at the gate, again?”

“We decided that _two_ civilizations with secret underground bunkers was pushing the laws of probability, and the Levinn probably _were_ simple people who’d be scared if we showed up in a flying Ancient ship.” John tossed his beans up to Ronon, hauled himself up the rock shelf, and picked the beans back up.

“Teyla’s only been here, what, once?” Rodney tossed up his own beans and grabbed John’s outstretched hand. “They could be the Genii’s favorite cousins and we’d have no idea.”

“Well, given that we _didn’t find_ any secret underground bunkers, I’m guessing either we were right, or they hide them better.” John glanced at Teyla, the last one at the bottom. “Come on. It’s mostly level ground from here, and I want to get there as soon as possible. I don’t like all this seismic activity.”

Cosmic timing kicked in and the ground shuddered underneath them. Rodney dug his fingers into John’s forearm and scowled. “You know what I wish? I wish geology was an exact science. I want predictions more precise than _sometime in the next fifty years, this world’s going to have an enormous earthquake._ Wouldn’t that be nice?”

“Yeah, well, in an hour we won’t care anymore. Come on.” John pulled Teyla up, then glanced up at the clouds. “Wonder what time it is. It’s been solid gray since we got here.”

“You don’t even know how long the planetary rotation is,” Rodney pointed out, as Teyla hefted her beans and they started walking again. “The day could be sixty hours long, for all we know.”

“Point. I just hope sunset isn’t in the next fifteen minutes.”

“ _I_ hope it doesn’t start raining,” said Rodney.

~~~

“I think you jinxed us!” John shouted through a curtain of water, twenty minutes later.

“Shut up!” Rodney shouted back.

Five yards up, Ronon hit the mud as another small earthquake caught him balanced on a log.

“I think we officially hate this world,” said Rodney.

“I hope these bags are waterproof,” said John. “Aren’t beans one of the things that we aren’t supposed to get wet? Plus, heavy.”

“You know what I like about you, Colonel? It’s your eternal optimism.”

“This one I know,” said Teyla. “Pot, kettle.”

“Very good,” said John. “Let’s hurry up. We can make fun of Ronon about falling in the mud.”

Rodney brightened at that, but shot a nervous look at the sky as the rain intensified.

~~~

The rain still hadn’t let up by the time they caught sight of the puddlejumper, which was just up the beach from the Stargate. Just before they got there, another earthquake knocked them off their feet.

“Okay,” said John, picking up his beans, “leaving _now_.”

“I think Major Lorne gets this world next time,” said Rodney. “Also, I hate rain.”

“We know,” said Ronon.

“A little patience,” said Teyla, “and— _run_!”

“What? Where?” John called, already following her. No enemies, no big animals—

She pointed. Out.

“Oh, God,” panted Rodney. “We’re going to die.”

They dropped their beans and ran for the jumper, as the approaching wave got bigger, and closer, and _bigger_. Almost there, Rodney stumbled in the wet sand, and John grabbed his arm, yanking him along behind him.

They pelted up the ramp, and John went for the controls. “Dial the gate, dial the gate! And strap in, I don’t know if we’re going to make it in time—”

The roar of the wave drowned him out, and then they were in the air. John tried not to look at the wall of water to their right. They were going to make it, no problem—Teyla had finished dialing, and—there, seventh chevron— _Jesus_ , it was almost here—Teyla was radioing in, telling them to raise the shield as soon as they got in, and then they shot through and he was thinking _stopstopstop_.

He took a second to catch his breath, then took a look out the window and realized that there was about six inches of water on the floor of the gateroom. God. Just in time.

“Well,” said Teyla, “now we know why the Levinn village is so far from the Stargate.”

John cracked up. Sudden release of tension, and they were all laughing. Not that funny, but it was what you did.

“Because they’re _smart_ ,” said John finally, turning away from the controls. “I wonder how long their Stargate’ll be—hey, Rodney, you okay?”

Rodney was—something was up with him. He wasn’t laughing, which might have been in character, but he wasn’t bitching about how they’d all almost died again, either. John frowned, took a closer look. Was he in shock? He was pale—Jesus, he was _shaking_. And he hadn’t said a word since they reached the jumper.

And it took way too long for him to realize that John was asking him a question. “I—I’m okay,” he said, and John narrowed his eyes.

“No,” said Teyla, frowning. “Dr. McKay, you do not appear to be well.”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Rodney snapped, which was more reassuring, but—John scanned him for injuries. No blood, he looked fine, except his left hand was clenched around—

—his right forearm. Oh.

But then Elizabeth radioed them, sounding impatient, to ask what the hell had happened and were they okay, and that took a couple seconds, and John couldn’t stop in the middle of the conversation to yell Rodney back when he left the jumper with quick, unsteady steps.

He could get up and follow, though, and he did, reassuring Elizabeth, mentioning that a clean, _dry_ change of clothes might be nice, and watching Rodney close his eyes and take a breath before stepping out into the puddle of water that was the gateroom floor.

“Tell me what _happened_ , John,” Elizabeth insisted, and John sighed and decided that waiting five minutes, calming down himself, changing his clothes and getting himself together might actually make it easier.

Teyla was giving him a look, and Ronon was staring intently, curiously, after Rodney. When he turned, John gave them both a quick nod, _it’s okay, I got this_ , and they nodded back, satisfied.

~~~

Rodney had never had a traumatic flashback before, but he was figuring this was it. For a second there, running along the beach and watching the wave bear down on them, he’d been back at the grounding station, Kolya shoving him halfway over the railing, wet and freezing and absolutely _certain_ that this was it, he was going to die this time—and then Sheppard’s hand had closed over his arm, and he’d come back.

But it hadn’t gone _away_. He kept getting these flickering images, Kolya threatening to kill them, Kolya ordering his soldier to cut open Rodney’s arm, Kolya hitting him in the face during that last, frantic bluff—

It wouldn’t go away. And he was still cold, but his hands were shaking too much to really get his clothes off, and his arm felt like it was still bleeding. He kept having to check to make sure it wasn’t, and once he’d looked at it and thought he saw the blood, which hadn’t been pleasant at _all_ , and—why couldn’t he get his fucking _shirt_ off?

Why couldn’t the tsunami have _waited_ five minutes? He gave up on the clothes in favor of sitting down. Maybe if he just sat and appreciated his dry, Kolya-free room for a little while, he’d calm down enough to get out of his clothes and into a hot shower.

God, he was cold.

He’d wait for a couple minutes, and then he’d get up. Just a couple minutes.

When the door slid open, he jumped guiltily before realizing that whoever it was couldn’t know about resolving to get up, and then his brain caught up and he said, “What the hell are you doing, Colonel? This is, oh yes, _my_ room, and—” And what? Something witty, hurry it up, Rodney, think of something, “—and you should get out right now—” way to go, brain, for coming up with new and exciting definitions of _witty_ —

“Rodney, Jesus, you need to get _out_ of those clothes,” snapped Sheppard, moving toward him, “and then maybe I’m going to take you to see Beckett.”

“ _No_. I’m fine. I don’t—” Carson would ask _questions_. Was it too much that he just wanted to forget about it? “I—look. I’m taking the clothes off, okay?” But his hands were _still_ shaking, and the clothes were wet, and stuck to him, and _heavy_ , and—he really hated wet clothes, now. When the friendly neighborhood tsunami wasn’t around to send him back into Genii-occupied Atlantis, he was almost totally fine, but wearing wet clothes always made him—nervous. Irritable. “I can do it,” he muttered. “I can—I can— _shit_.”

“Let me help,” said Sheppard, and his voice had gone kind of quiet and soft. He reached out, and his hands were quiet and soft too, which if Rodney thought about it for more than a second, made _no sense at all_ —“Major—I mean. Colonel. Sheppard. John. I’m all right.”

“Rodney,” said John.

“What?”

“Be quiet,” and John pulled his shirt off, which made a really disgusting peeling noise, and for a second he really did think his arm was bleeding again. But only for a second. Improvements, good.

John was making disgusted noises. When his hand brushed against Rodney’s chest, it almost burned. “Jesus,” said John, “you’re _freezing_. In the bathroom. Come on.”

Rodney thought about protesting that he’d been going to take a hot shower anyway—he was the polar _opposite_ of stupid, remember?—but John was stripping him with quick, efficient movements and shoving him into the shower—and _ow_ , ow, “Too hot!” he managed, trying to get away from the burning water.

“It’s barely warm, Rodney. I bet your core temperature’s something to look at—I really should take you to Beckett.”

“ _No_ ,” said Rodney. Beckett would mean Kate, eventually, and while he liked her just fine, he didn’t want to go see her unless—he wanted to go see her.

Obviously, his brain was taking a day off. He sighed and decided to go with it. And the water was a little less scalding, now. His hands were still shaking, though.

He faded out for a little while, and almost got pulled back into Kolya’s line of fire once or twice, but John was moving around the bathroom and somehow the periodic, “You okay, Rodney?” and the muffled _fuck_ when he knocked something off the sink kept him anchored.

Eventually, John turned off the water and handed him a towel, which he managed to use pretty well considering he didn’t have a working brain, and gave him some clothes, and pushed him out into the room, wrapped him in blankets and sat him down on his bed.

“So,” John said finally, sitting down next to him. “Want to talk about it?”

“No,” said Rodney.

“Kolya,” said John.

“What part of _no_ don’t you understand?” But John just looked at him, until he sighed and said, “Yes, Kolya. Who did you think? The boogieman?” Another second, and he said, “I’ll be _fine_. I don’t think we’re going to run into tsunamis all that often, all right? And we’ve been stuck in the rain often enough that I think you _know_ that I’m okay with just water. This was just—a one-time thing, okay?” And now he just wanted to sink into the floor and die, because while PTSD was a perfectly legitimate disorder, and he had every right to shout to the sky that he maybe probably had it, he just—why did John have to _know_?

“Okay,” said John. “Are you warm enough?”

He nodded.

“Do you want me to get out?”

The shudder caught him by surprise, almost catapulted him right back, shivering in the rain—“No—no.” God, what John was probably _thinking_ —

“Okay,” said John. And he scooted a little closer to Rodney on the bed, until they were touching. Rodney instantly felt better, and his face heated up.

“I’ve seen some bad stuff, Rodney,” said John. “Sometimes you just can’t take it. It’s okay.”

He didn’t want to hear it. He _really_ didn’t want to think about it. He just—he wanted today to be _over_.

John was a warm presence, next to him. When he leaned to the side, and John put his arm around Rodney’s shoulders, hand resting warm and solid on his bicep, Rodney closed his eyes and pretended none of it had happened, none of it was happening.  


end  



End file.
